Murder of a Sweet Old Lady

Scumble River mystery

Murder of a Sleeping Beauty

coming from Signet in 2002.

CHAPTER 1

From Bad to Hearse

As a school psychologist, Skye Denison had dealt with many recalcitrant teens, but Justin Boward would be the death of her yet. He refused to talk. She was beginning to think his entire vocabulary consisted of yes, no, and the occasional grunt. Although she knew that adolescents were the same as cats—neither reacted when you spoke to them—his lack of response to her attempts to draw him out was starting to make her feel like a failure. A feeling she was way too familiar with already.

Two years ago Skye had been forced to crawl back to Scumble River, Illinois, after finding herself fired, jilted, and broke. It had been hard enough to return to the rural Midwestern town she had escaped as a teenager, but the citizens’ long memories had made it even worse. Hardly a week went by without someone reminding Skye of what she had said twelve years ago in her valedictorian speech. Back then, the moment the words had left her mouth, she’d regretted saying that Scumble River was full of small-minded people with even smaller intellects. She had regretted it even more since she’d moved back home.

She sneaked a peek at her watch as she pushed a stray chestnut curl under her headband. It was twenty-five minutes before the Scumble River High School dismissal bell would ring. Once again, she attempted to make eye contact with the teen seated kitty-corner from her at the small trapezoidal table. He ducked his head and studied his chewed fingernails. Justin had not spoken three words to her in their fifteen minutes together. Skye searched her mind for some pithy comment.

Before she could think of what to say, a girl she vaguely recognized flung the door open and stumbled inside. The girl bent over, trying to catch her breath, and spoke between gasps. “Sleeping Beauty is dead.”

“What?” Was this teen speak for: Run, the cops are here? Was she supposed to answer: The gray wolf howls at midnight? Skye’s emerald-green eyes raked the adolescent, who was standing just past the office threshold, still-hunched over, hands on her knees. She was dressed in low-riding, wide-legged denims and a hooded belly top. Her bleached two-tone hair fell to the middle of her back, and her navel was pierced.

Skye quickly examined her mental file and decided that the girl probably hung with either the Rebels or the Skanks. Of Scumble River High’s five or six cliques, these were the two roughest. The Cheerleaders, the Jocks, and the Nerds had much more teacher-pleasing behavior. What was this girl up to?

The adolescent finally straightened and grabbed Skye by the wrist. “Something abhorrent has happened. You have to come right now. Hurry!”

Skye found herself half running, half being dragged down the long hall. Orange lockers went by in a blur, and the smell of that day’s lunch caught in her throat.

The teen skidded to a halt before the closed gym doors and pointed. “In there.”

“Who are you? And what are you talking about?”

“This is just FYI. I’m out of here.” The girl tried to push past Skye and head back down the corridor.

Skye grabbed the hood of her top. “Oh, no, you don’t. Explain.”

“Hey, Cujo! Back in your cage.” The teen twisted violently, trying to free herself. She turned an anger-filled stare on Skye, who met her gaze without blinking. Finally, the girl shrugged. “So, okay. I cut my eighth-period study hall, and I was hanging around here and there, waiting until my buds got out of school. I wanted a cigarette, and knew there was no PE last hour, so I went in the gym. It was dark. I thought I saw someone on the stage, so I went closer. That’s when I saw her. What’s her name? The cheer-leader playing Sleeping Beauty. She was lying there dead.”

The teen tried again to free herself. Skye refused to let go. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re staying with me. Let’s check this out. Sleeping Beauty was probably just rehearsing or taking a nap.” Under her breath she muttered, “Or maybe she was afraid of you.”

Side by side they entered the unlit gym. As her eyes adjusted, Skye could just make out the stage at the opposite end of the room. It held partially completed sets for the spring musical Sleeping Beauty. She moved forward, a firm grip on her prisoner’s hood. Half walls and skeletal trees loomed in the darkness. While they climbed the steps up to the stage, Skye wondered if she were doing the right thing. She didn’t think the faculty handbook covered this situation.

To their right, a mock castle bedroom had been set up. Lying on the twin bed was one of the most beautiful young women Skye had ever seen. Her straight blond hair brushed the floor, and her face was a flawless oval. She had passed from the awkwardness of adolescence and was yet to be touched by the hand of time. She was perfect.

Skye took a closer look at the young woman. Her skin had a waxy appearance and was almost blue-gray in color. Her lips and nails were pale. Skye rushed to the bed and checked for a pulse. She could feel nothing over the thud of her own heartbeat. She put her ear to the girl’s chest. Again nothing. Finally, she placed the back of her hand to the teen’s mouth. She wasn’t breathing.

Skye forced herself to remain calm and tried to remember what she had learned in her first aid course. Nothing applied to this situation. Sleeping Beauty was dead.